


Pet

by Cluegirl



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius goes to great lengths to keep his young lover from the Dark Lord's notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet

_Scratch deeply enough beneath the surface of a bad man, of a vicious man, of a villain and you will find the shape of a secret grief within. Hold his blackened, twisted heart in your hands, and you will find at least one thorn buried in the flinty, atrophied flesh. An injustice never righted. A shattered love never healed. An anchor, a pivot on which, for an agony of time, his entire world slung out of its orbit and spun wildly awry, far beyond the reach of mercy, comfort or any warm thing._

_And you must never forget it -- that from this frigid vantage, every step he has taken into the darkness where you find him has followed a terrible logic. And even with the most innocent blood upon his hands, this man will think upon the thorn buried deeply in his own heart, and in comparison to that ache, the sting of conscience will be no great matter._

~*~

 

_"Come away from the window," Lucius called from the bed._

_Severus startled around, the winter moonlight throwing the boy's reedy frame into a sharp relief of hip and shoulder, rib and knee then he tilted his chin and braced his arms over his breast. Under robes, the pose would have put his height to excellent use, but naked and framed against the midnight sky, only made him look bony and rather cold. "Why? Are you afraid someone will see me?"_

_Lucius chuckled. "Well, you _don't_ look your best just now, I'll admit. However if I cared who might see you here, I should never have brought you to my home in the first place. Now," he turned back the duvet and curled a beckoning hand, "come away before you've chilled clear through."_

Predictably, Severus turned his face back to the window, his profile stark against the winter outside. Lucius didn't repeat himself, merely waited for the inevitable. It didn't take long for the youth to decide it seemed like his own idea, at which point he gave a sigh and padded across the room on bare feet which by now would surely be blocks of ice.

But when he climbed back into the bed, Severus' skin was warm and smooth. "What?" the boy challenged, "I _am_ a wizard, you know, I _can_ manage a basic warming charm."

Lucius laughed and rolled the rangy youth underneath him for a kiss. "Were you not a wizard, do you think you would be here now," he said, smoothing the dark hair off Severus' brow, "However clever your-" another kiss, "tongue?"

"Hmmmonly meant... I'm-"

Lucius trailed his lips along the youth's jaw, smiling as the words broke down consonant by consonant inside that arching throat. Soon, only the vowels remained humming beneath his lips. "Don't fret, my Raven, I know what you are."

Severus' prick nudged timidly at the inside of his thigh, hardening quickly despite the boy's best effort to scowl. "Your pet?" He asked. How he could manage to sound petulant and breathless with desire at the same moment was beyond Lucius' ken, but it was all part of the dark youth's prickly charm.

He laughed, raised up on one elbow to pluck a strand of black hair out of his lover's eyes. "Well, I've never kept a bird before, so why not? We can line your cage with potions texts --" The joke dried up in his throat as Severus' long fingers sought Lucius' forearm, tracing the Morsmordre that glimmered faintly against his skin.

"No," he said, catching the hand and drawing it to his lips.

"Why not?" Severus demanded, "_You_ serve him. You're _his_ pet, so why shouldn't I-"

"No." Lucius pressed one finger across the provoking lips -- one finger only, lest he grip strangling-tight and break the fragile boy. "A soldier is not a pet, any leader worth following knows the difference. That you should say such a thing only proves that I am right in keeping you from the war."

Severus huffed through his nose and made to roll away, but Lucius tipped his bony shoulders flat to the mattress and pinned them there beneath his elbows.

"Don't fret, Severus," he soothed, taking pure delight in the fury that stained the pale cheeks pink and brightened those hot black eyes, "You'll be worth more than any mere soldier in your time. You'll serve your Lord greater victories than he could ever dream of at bloodied hands like mine. Green and rough you may be now, but with your cleverness, your wit and your genius in the brewing room, you'll be worth twenty Death Eaters-"

"When?" Any other boy would have whined that. Severus growled it in patent disbelief, but hunger stood naked in the sound. Lucius simply had to taste it.

"Not yet, my boy," he sighed, rolling his hips down against Severus' belly and drinking in the helpless way those eyes fluttered closed when his erection dug into the spare flesh, "Let me polish you first, let me temper you..." He took another kiss, spreading Severus' lips wide under his, forcing an eager surrender in the damp dance of tongue against tongue. _mine,_ his blood sang in hammering beats, _mine only, ever!_

He pulled away with a gasp, both hands knotted into Severus' sleek black hair, holding his head down when he yearned up after the sundered kiss. "By Nimue, I will make you magnificent..."

"And then what?" Severus gasped, winding his own hands into Lucius' hair, "You'll give me to him?"

_Never!_ Lucius smiled and rolled away, coming up alongside his young lover with a feline stretch. "Perhaps," he allowed, "If I think him worthy of you."

Severus made a rude sound in his throat. "I should think that would be up to me to choose."

"Ah, my Raven," Lucius coasted his palm along Severus's side, memorising the landscape of muscle, bone, and fierce need, "You'll learn with time; choice is vastly overrated."

"But," Severus blinked, "but it is our choices that make us who we are."

Lucius cocked an eyebrow and stilled his hand. "Severus, you know I adore you, but if you _ever_ quote Albus Dumbledore in my bed again, I shall have no choice but to thrash you to within an inch of your life!"

"Well, even though he said it, it's true!" the boy insisted, blushing angrily.

Lucius shook his head. "It's nonsense, Severus," he said, "What power does choice have against fate? If a mighty wizard casts the killing curse upon you, can you choose not to die? Can you choose not to breathe?" His hand resumed its path, thumb deviating to sweep down over one dusky nipple to make the youth quiver and hiss, "Can you choose not to feel?" Severus arched after the fleeting contact, brushing his eagerly hardening cock against Lucius's thigh as he did so.

"My point, I believe," Lucius smirked and drew the youth close against him, sought through the dark hair for an ear, and pressed his lips to it. "Never rely on choice, Severus, for it can always be taken away from you."

The boy made a sound in his throat; needy, greedy and urgent as, with a serpentine wriggle, he managed to insinuate himself back under Lucius altogether. His prick, massively engorged and weeping now, nosed blindly up along Lucius's own, almost dragging a groan from his throat unwilling. Lucius grabbed the boy's hands by way of retaliation, dragged them up over his head, and oh yes did he arch up high, grinding his cock against Lucius' own and blinding them both for a breathless second. Lucius dropped his chin, licked and bit one of Severus's nipples until his wobbling control returned and his young lover's completely evaporated.

"Tell me what you want, Severus," he murmured to the panting boy, "Tell me what you'd have of me if I gave you the choice."

The black eyes opened, fever bright. "Everything."

Lucius smirked. "You've got that already."

"Your-" he stammered as Lucius rolled his hips down, "OhMerlin, your mouth on me. Make me come please!"

"Mm. And then?"

"C-cock," he flushed to whisper, but Lucius was pleased that he no longer tried not to say the word. "Your cock inside me. Inside my arse. Fuh. Fucking me." Oh how sweet, that humiliated tremble as the filth tumbled from those lips, plump and pink with kisses. As though he were far more innocent at seventeen than he'd actually been at twelve. "Oh, Lucius, please!"

And he wanted it so prettily, Lucius almost conceded. But no. Better to handle this lesson now than to come back to it later. With supreme reluctance, Lucius released Severus' hands and rolled off his body. "Pity then, that the choice isn't yours," he observed, sitting up against the pillows, "now come and suck me."

"But-"

"Do as I say or leave my rooms, Severus," he said, folding his hands behind his head, "is that choice enough for you?"

And oh, for a moment those black eyes hated him. But Severus came, slithering on his belly, with his great cock dragging along the sheets. He glowered up through his eyelashes as he settled between Lucius's knees and said, "Bastard."

Lucius smiled, stroked the black hair lovingly. "Suck."

Severus paused for one final glare before putting his oral fixation to work. Lucius lay his head back and enjoyed it, revelled in the knowing tongue that delved under his foreskin to lick around the corona, delighted in the rigid confines of that throat's deepest reach, sighed unashamedly at the heat and the silken, liquid slide of those lips against his shaft. Severus rolled his balls into his palm, and Lucius rewarded him with a groan. The boy's hips jutted down against the mattress just at the sound, and Lucius couldn't help but grin.

"Good," he said, watching the narrow arse trying to find friction without moving enough to be noticed, "Very good. I'm going to come in your mouth, Severus," he said, fetching the onyx jar from the bedside table and setting it at the boy's elbow, "So you'd better prepare for the rest." Confusion tripped Severus' rhythm, so Lucius helped him to recover it with a roll of his hips and a hand on his head. Then he removed the jar's lid, and drew Severus' long fingers into the unguent. "You know what to do," he murmured.

The boy moaned -- a delicious vibration up along Lucius's trapped cock -- and started to reach behind himself. Lucius caught his wrist again. "No," he said, "not you."

A look of shock, and Severus pulled away coughing. "What? But you- I've nev-"

Lucius seized a handful of the raven hair and shook the boy's protests to a stop. "Do as I say," he repeated, "or leave my rooms."

"But I'm too...big," Severus whispered miserably, still ridiculously ashamed of the manhood his bloodline gifted him with -- as though the long, thick cock were somehow grotesque rather than magnificent, "I'll hurt you."

Lucius almost laughed, but instead, gentled his grip on Severus's hair, dragged his fingers down the smooth, high-arched cheek bone to graze the damp lips. "Here is the real choice of it, Severus," he said, "You can choose to hide behind what you _think_ you can do, or you can trust me, because I _know_ what you are capable of."

And, conjured from hiding by the sound of his voice, lust swept across that sharp, dark gaze like a cloud over the moon. The boy wanted this. Moreover, he wanted the ghostly, half-hinted vision of himself in Lucius' almost-promise -- wanted it so much that he let Lucius' fingers tickle his lips open again, and guide them back to their task without protest. He brought his dripping fingers to Lucius' opening, hesitant, delicate, maddening.

"One, to start," Lucius instructed, "easy now, mind the nail... that's good. Yessss, that's right, long and slow, as I do with you. Now, turn your hand palm up... a little deeper... _there_!" He licked his lips, glad of Severus' divided attention, because the stimulation was almost too much as it was, and if his fellatio had been up to standard, no power on earth could have kept Lucius from spending right then. "Feel that?" He didn't need to ask, but did anyway. For answer, Severus' finger kneaded over it again, filling Lucius' head with stars, until he could only gasp, "More!"

Severus, clever boy that he was, realised that he meant fingers, and complied hungrily, matching Lucius' groan around his prick. Impatient, half maddened, Lucius pressed down against the invasion -- three fingers now, he was certain, and still probably not as stretched as that young cock would make him. "The last," he panted, hips rolling, prick quivering against Severus' lazy-suckling tongue. Then, when all he could feel was the bump and shove of knuckles against his outer muscle ring and the insistent, maddening caress inside him, Lucius grabbed the dark head with both hands, shoved himself deep into Severus' throat and came with a shout.

The boy held his throat open, nose pressed eagerly against Lucius's pelvis while he waited for the spasms to finish. He never pulled back against Lucius' pressing hands, though surely his lungs must have been aching for a breath. Such a good, good, excellent boy. Very nearly perfect. Lucius licked his lips and drew Severus up for a salty, slick kiss. Eager as a seal to the ocean, the dark boy slithered up, tongue delving deep, wrestling lustfully along Lucius's own, gasping when, at the heated brush of Severus' cock against his opening, Lucius pulled suddenly away.

"Roll over," he murmured, "I want you on your back."

No hesitation, either by way of trust, or understanding. Severus' cock arched proudly over his belly, thick and dark and weeping, bobbing with every breath. Lucius took a moment to kiss the tip before guiding Severus' hand back to the jar. "Now, on yourself. You're big, so use plenty."

The dark eyes rolled closed as he caressed himself, fingers tightening, slick, sticky sounds warring with ragged gasps. Lucius touched his wrist to put a stop to it. "Hold it up for me," he said, swinging astride, "There..." The breach was a twinge, barely a breath's worth of time before it faded. Lucius remembered to be grateful for Severus's large hands as he sank down on the fullness of the boy's cock with a groan.

Severus, however, was silent -- mouth wide, eyes wide, shock-frozen so that he almost forgot to remove his hand as Lucius' bore down. But it didn't take long for instinct to overwhelm astonishment. Eyes rolling back, the boy cried out and jutted his hips frantically, a flush staining his parchment-pale face.

Lucius hooked his feet over Severus' knees, pressed them flat and shoved the boy's shoulders into the mattress with his hands. "Be still," he growled as the body beneath him twitched ineffectually, "You'll spend too soon and spoil it!" And abruptly, the thrashing ceased, gave way to a tremble so fine it was like vibration under Lucius' spread thighs. He could feel Severus' every gasp through the throbbing mass inside him, and it filled him with an exquisite urge to ride with abandon. Resisting the urge, of course, made it even better when the boy's eyes flickered their submission and the taut hips under him stilled at last. Perfect.

"That's right," Lucius nodded and brought Severus' still greasy hand to his own prick, "gently now." And this time, they moved together -- smooth and balanced, Severus following his lead, listening to Lucius' silent instruction with every inch of his sweat-sheened skin. The build of tempo and pressure was flawless, the syncopation of breath, moan, and slap was music, the glitter of sweat and silk and oil and moonlight a dazzle of perfection -- living art, pulsing wildly in the corded throat beneath his hands, bulking in the diamond-hardness shoving so very deeply inside him, sizzling in the grip that slid along his cock and coaxed fire out from under his bollocks with a terrible urgency.

And then he was coming. And then he was coming too. And then they were coming together, throb for throb, breath for breath, fingers clenching hard, teeth and eyes flashing as they both burned up to ashes and blew away.

"There now," Lucius sighed presently, cuddling a cleaned, languid, and well-fucked Severus into the curve of his shoulder, "Isn't it-"

"Lucius, if you're going to gloat about me not getting what I wanted, I swear by Circe I will spit in your espresso when the house elves bring breakfast in the morning." Which was as good as an admission to his having been absolutely right, and they both knew it.

"Right then," Lucius said around a yawn, "Note to house elves; Tea with breakfast tomorrow."

 

~*~

 

"Lucius," his tone was impatient, scornful, annoyed, but his grip on Lucius' shoulder was fear-tight and trembling finely.

"Shh." Lucius stroked the hard knuckles and continued his measured pace, "Just keep your hand there and stay with me. We're almost there -- step down here."

"Stairs?" Severus' voice scraped, "_Down_ stairs? Like this? If you're trying to get rid of me, there's no need to have me break my neck!"

Lucius smirked, but kept his tone severe to reply. "Keep up the whinging, and I'll just lead you back to your rooms and lock you in. Your books will be cold comfort without the use of your eyes, won't they?" Severus' hand clenched a silent 'you wouldn't' against his shoulder as the boy honoured his unreasonable height with an almost-stumble on the stairs. "Easy now," Lucius soothed, waiting till he blew out his breath before continuing their decent, "wouldn't you rather just trust me a little while longer, and see what I've got for you when we get there?"

The fingers softened, mute apology. "I don't understand the occasion," Severus ventured a few steps later, "My birthday's past, and Yule isn't for weeks yet."

And that made Lucius grin unashamedly. "There is a certain meanness to the mind of a man who requires an _occasion_ to give his lover a gift, don't you think? Last step now," he warned, and drew Severus forward by the hand as they left the staircase.

"Where-" The dark youth paused, cocked an ear at the echoes, his dark, spell-occluded eyes flicking side to side with concentration as he listened. Lucius watched, pleased as always to see his young lover's cleverness at work in his expressive face. "The cellars?" Severus asked, brows rising, "What are-"

"You may guess if you'd like," Lucius cut in, leading the boy to the centre of the room, "but given all the complaining you were doing earlier, I'd rather thought you might want to _see_ your gift."

Severus scowled and drew himself upright with the careful air of a child who knew the vulnerability of hope. "I suppose I'd better see what all this is about, since you've obviously put yourself to such trouble," he equivocated, fooling no one.

Unable to restrain a grin, Lucius removed the blindness hex and stepped back to watch. First the tension drained out of his face so completely that, had he been anyone other than Severus Snape, his mouth would have fallen open. His glance flickered all over the workroom, taking in as much as he could remembering to turn around.

Cauldrons in every size and material; teacup-sized and made of pure gold; skull-sized of blown glass; square sided, boot-box tall and made of antimony; kitchen-kettle copper; black iron big enough to boil a teenager to the bones if he wasn't too tall; all stacked and hung in the shadowed alcove. A worktable further on, its end-cut butcher's block six inches higher than standard, so that Severus wouldn't have to stoop. Row upon row of knives gleamed softly from its smooth surface, silver, steel, cold iron, obsidian, jade. At last, Severus blinked, and Lucius smiled.

There was a set of shelves filled with nothing but glass; flasks, jars, tubes and bottles, all sparkling and flawless in the gleaming torchlight. More shelves stood against the far wall, packed rank and file with neatly-labelled supplies. And the third shelf was empty but for a couple of books Severus had spent the previous week searching his quarters for stacked there by way of a suggestion. An escritoire stood beside the lone high window in the corner, a blank parchment, a journal, and new quill lying ready on its surface.

"You're pleased?" Lucius purred, leaning close to wrap his arms around his lover from behind, "At least admit I've surprised you."

"Surprised-" Severus wriggled about in his arms and kissed him eagerly. "When was this- I never even-" he looked around again, lips twitching against what Lucius suspected would have been quite a broad grin if he were alone. "Sly, Lucius, very sly of you to get me rambling on about what would make the ideal potion's lab last month. Had you been planning this since then?"

"Mm," Lucius smoothed the planes of his back, pleased at the excitement still thrumming just beneath the surface, "I'll confess it, the idea did occur to me at the time. The challenge, of course, lay in distracting you thoroughly enough for the manor elves to manage it all in time." As soon as the words left his mouth, he cursed them. Severus' back went still beneath his cheek, and Lucius closed his eyes against what he knew was coming.

"In time," Severus murmured, "In time for..." he pulled out of Lucius' hold, "You're going away again."

"For a little while, yes," Lucius replied with all the calm he knew Severus would not maintain, "I have an estate to maintain, and-"

"And a Dark Lord to serve! So you throw me toys to keep me quiet and entertained while you go off to do his bidding? You try and buy me with -- with --" he waved a hand around him, cheeks stained high and fierce with his building temper, black eyes flashing, "with **things**, while you go off to change the world!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus-"

"My father was right to call me your whore!" the youth shouted over him, "Why don't you make the transaction simpler and just leave money on my dresser after-"

"Enough!" Lucius shoved him back against the chopping table, held him there with the weight of his body, for Severus might be the taller, but he was thin, and Lucius outweighed him by three stone of muscle. "**WHEN** I want a whore, Severus Snape, I know exactly where to go to procure a whore's services. I would get precisely what I paid for, and that would NOT include insulting insinuations unless I should happen to ask for them specifically." He unwound his fists from Severus' robes and stepped away, shaking his own clothes straight with brusque, irritated strokes. "You're not here because I want a catamite-"

"Then what **am** I here for then?" Severus growled, not cowed at all, damn him, "You dress me up like a doll, and you shower me with gifts, but then you lock me away in your palace as if you're afraid to be seen with me! As if you're too ashamed of me to even let me make my own living!"

'Oh, so you're wanting to take to the trades, is that it?" Lucius cursed himself for giving in to the needling, but didn't bother to check the venom in his tone, "Open yourself up a little shop in Knockturn and sell contraceptives to the whores and fertilities to the panderers? Well, that will surely make your father even more **proud** of you than he currently is! He lost the Snape's fortunes, but you can still top his achievements by losing the family's noble standing!"

Severus had the good sense to me more mortified than outraged, and he held his tongue, staring at the wall as though the force of his miserable glower could bore through the stone. Poised, though; from fists to feet the youth was poised for escape, and Lucius knew his young lover was never more reckless than when he was running.

"Severus, I see to your needs because I care what you might need," he said, curbing his temper with some effort, "You came here with nothing but too-small school uniforms, and so I bought you clothes. You complained of boredom, and so I gave you books, artefacts, spent endless hours discussing them with you. Only you still complained, and so I've done _this_ for you," he took in the laboratory with a sweeping gesture, "And if, with all your damned cleverness, you cannot work out why," he stalked toward the door, robes billowing, "then far be it from me to try and explain it!"

"Lucius-"

"Use the laboratory, or do not use it," he interrupted, "It shan't be removed, and neither I nor my wife have any cause to disturb it. It is yours, as is the choice of whether to brew in it, or sulk somewhere else while it gathers dust. For myself, I shall be in my study once you've decided what you're doing here, Severus," he turned in the doorway to pin the youth with a glare, "Do feel free to come and share the information with me then." And he swirled away up the stairs, tongue bitter and heavy in his mouth, and mind full of the dark eyes' stricken, trapped expression.

Merlin, but the boy was like a potion himself. Just the slightest miscalculation and he was seething fit to explode, and blister everything in sight. But what passion... how could one not love that brilliant fire, even when it burned the hand that fed it? Like a wild dog just barely tamed to hand, Severus was -- loyal in his Slytherin way, but proud and vain and so very fearful. His tentative hopes stood ready to flee behind scorn and rage at the slightest hint they might be used against him, so deeply did the stamp of his father's mis-handling still bear down upon him. Sabri Snape had a lot to answer for in Lucius Malfoy's opinion.

"My, that went well, didn't it?" Narcissa's elegant, cultured voice was vilely smug as he came to the top of the stairs to find her lounging against the wall, "All that work, and your boy throws your gift back in your face," she tutted, examined a nearby vase of flowers then cut him a sidelong glance. "How utterly boorish."

"I hardly think listening at doorways is any better," he replied through his teeth as he stalked away.

Her silvery laugh followed him. "Lucius, with all the shouting, it was hardly a matter of listening, so much as not jotting down a transcript for later perusal!" She caught up with him, her elegant shoes tapping out marble echoes. "Honestly, if you _will_ keep him about, can you not make him treat you with a little more respect?" She slid her arm through the bend of his elbow just as though it were welcome, cuddled herself along his side and laughed again. "I mean it's hardly fitting, is it? You're his..." she made a show of selecting the word, "His _patron_; one would think he'd have the wit to maintain basic courtesy! But then again, the little cretin can hardly manage to share my table without spitting in the corners, so I suppose I oughtn't to be surprised."

Lucius stopped, staring straight ahead, lest he turn his gaze upon the woman who would be the mother of his heirs, and accidentally wind up beating her to death on the spot. "Speak plainly, Narcissa," he suggested.

She blinked, mock-innocent. "Why darling, I am merely pointing out that you've brought home quite the sow's ear, haven't you? I'll wager he's clever enough if all you care to discuss is potions or dark arts, but as far as sharing our home, well..." and here, she began to falter, sensing, perhaps, the thin ice onto which she was venturing, "all I mean is that for all the work you do with him, darling breeding _will_ show."

And at last he did look at her, raked his eyes over this single pale fleck in the dark-haired House of Black, this old woman's last bright indiscretion, legitimised because she was pretty and her father would rather raise a bastard than be known for a cuckold. And that made it easier to favour his wife with a cold smile. "Of course," he said, disengaging his arm brusquely, "Breeding always tells, in the end."

This time, she did not follow him.

 

~*~

 

Severus' apology came in a small crystal flask at dinner that night, set beside his plate with a succinct clack as he passed Lucius' chair. The potion inside swirled, green and metallic, shimmering in the candle light as though a hawk's eye gem were somehow made fluid. He did not recognise it, but there was a glimmering in the depths of Severus' reserved greeting nod that promised that learning this particular potion's properties would constitute a memorable evening indeed.

"Ah," Narcissa wrinkled her nose delicately, "is _that_ what I've been smelling all afternoon? Why I'd very nearly chastised the house elves for burning supper before I realised the smell was coming from your workroom, Severus."

The boy, surprisingly, didn't rise to her needling, merely snapped his napkin across his lap and gave the elegant blonde a thin smile. "No, Mrs. Malfoy, _that_ potion was one I'd been brewing for you. It won't be done for several days, I'm afraid. _This_ potion," he tipped a nod at the flask beside Lucius' hand, "smells entirely different."

Her eyes glinted, suspicious and curious in equal measure as she draped her own napkin, "Does it?" She gave Lucius an expectant look, which he pretended not to notice. "Well, I suppose I'll give you my opinion of it tomorrow morning then," she seethed, but Severus' lure had been too much for her to ignore. "As for myself, I don't know that I care to take a potion that smells so dreadfully of carbonised fish."

"Not even if it gives you the child you haven't been able to conceive by yourself?"

Lucius managed not to drop his fork. Narcissa did not. Severus arched a smug brow at them both, then continued eating.

"That's..." Narcissa took a sip of wine to banish the shrillness from her throat. "Impossible. Perhaps you can improve the odds, but there is no potion which can guarantee conception." Which Lucius knew to be true, but he also knew Severus was too careful to be caught in a boast so easily. His lovely boy was up to something, offering Narcissa a prize they all knew she must have in order to keep her place in Lucius' household. Lucius was not so naïve as to suppose it was anything like a peace offering.

"No legal potion, no," Severus agreed, "But Lucius has been generous enough to loan me a very interesting text on blood magic and inheritance powders," he paused to savour a bite of his meal, then added, "I expect I shall see some significant results soon. Of course..." he slid a glance at the wide-eyed blonde at the end of the table, "The results would be decidedly _more_ significant if you were prepared to contribute to the experiment..."

Ah yes. This would be the power play then...

Narcissa's expression darkened, but Lucius spoke up before the storm could break. "Of course she will, Severus. I'm pleased to have your talents at work on her behalf." He drove the silent command home to his wife with a glance, "We both are. What is it you will require?"

"To make the potion a surety, I believe I will require some quantity of the intended mother's blood. Menstrual for preference," and here he smiled his viper's smirk at his hostess, "which should be available any day now, I trust?"

He'd timed that to Lucius' taking a drink, the wretch! He did not choke, but it really was a near thing.

Narcissa's poised, cultured mask slipped for a moment, and she flashed a poisonous look at the youth before she recovered herself enough to give a tight, mirthless laugh. "Well, little boys often blame the Stigmata Luna when a woman declines to indulge them in their whims, I suppose," she shrugged, dabbing her lips with her napkin and pushing back her chair, "Still, if it keeps you occupied, distracted, and out from underfoot, we may as well indulge your tinkering." And she swept from the room in a rustle of silk and barely-restrained temper.

Lucius did not laugh until her footsteps had faded to echoes. Severus shared a smirk and an unrepentant chuckle. "She makes it too easy," he said.

"That she does." Lucius toasted his lover, who blushed, "Still, I'll thank you to remember that it is I who must pay the price for your wit. And if you are leading her on about this potion of yours, you had better think twice about including me in your jest."

"I'm not lying," Severus frowned, "I'm sure I can do it. The instructions are clear enough, and the theory behind my calcu-"

"And all this from the goodness of your heart?" Lucius glanced at the phial beside his plate.

Severus had the grace to look abashed for a second before his chin tilted up defiantly. "And why not? You need an heir, and perhaps if she's got a brat to dandle, she'll quit trying to crawl up my arse."

"Mmm, and perhaps even take your side in trying to convince me to take you to the Dark Lord?" Lucius suggested silkily, and had the pleasure of watching the startled flash in Severus' eyes proclaim a palpable hit.

"She serves beside you," he hissed, "Your wife bears His mark, but you don't respect me enough to-"

"My wife," Lucius cut through the familiar accusation, "is a bloody-minded cat, and you know it. Spawned in the most noble and vicious house of Black and soaked in warfare and carnage straight from her mother's breast. I respect her as I would any scorpion. You, however," He set down his fork and stood to come around the table, "You, Severus, I love. Surely you can see how much more valuable that is." The boy made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, and Lucius couldn't help but smile. "You know why I keep you back," he said, resting his hands Severus' taut shoulders.

"No, I don't!" Severus replied, "You never say the same thing twice! It's either I'm too young, though I know my classmates have gone to him, or I'm not ready, though I'm better at dark arts than almost anybody, even you!" He looked up, eyes bitter, but pleading still. "You say I'm no soldier, but I've already known my share of warfare."

"I know," Lucius said, stroking his thumbs along the taut muscles of Severus' neck, "your father, those Gryffindors, even that idiotic Headmaster. You've fought and lost against them all. And haven't you had enough of it? Severus, you're a scientist, a philosopher --"

"A weakling and a victim."

"Only," Lucius seized the boy's face in both hands, tipped it back to meet his hard stare, "when you choose the wrong way to wage war. Look at your hands," he reached down and captured one, turning it to the candlelight like a holy relic, stroking his thumb over the ivory knuckles, "These hands are made for potions, not for murder. Your wit is made for the court, not the battlefield. Your eyes to winnow out your enemy's weakness, not to brashly challenge like a Gryffindor. Severus, I can teach you to wear your nature like a crown, if only you will be patient and _trust me._"

He pulled the hand up to press a kiss to the knuckles, smelling a rich, resinous fume clinging to the skin, "I know you, my Raven, I know your value as the Dark Lord could never do. He doesn't know how to value a treasure such as you; a boy of purity and brilliance, but no fortune to speak of. It cannot have escaped you that he favours the wealthy for his elite, Severus. With the Snape fortune a thing of memory, thanks to your father, what is it you think the Dark Lord will offer you?"

"Revenge." No hesitation.

Lucius blinked. "Revenge? Against the Gryffindors?" Severus nodded, pressed his lips tight and refused to look ashamed. Lucius released his hand and leaned against the table with a light laugh. "Potter's time is short already, my Raven -- I can guarantee you that. He is already under the Dark Lord's eye. You will have the ultimate revenge upon him no matter what you do; you will survive when he is dead and dust."

"I don't care about Potter," Severus looked a trifle mulish, pushing the remains of his meal about the plate while the house elf hovered impatiently. "It's Sirius Black's head I want. Can you give me that?"

Pure challenge in that tilt of chin, and Nimue's tits, but Lucius loved it -- loved meeting it, loved besting it, loved winding it about his wrist, tamed and hissing with pleasure. He pretended to consider. "Black... well, he's heir to a family the Dark Lord wants to keep happy... I don't expect he'd be too forthcoming there. Still, the boy is a blood traitor, and a friend of yours who knew the right things about him might be able to arrange an accident." The youth made a discontented moue and Lucius laughed, gently stroking the flushed cheek. "What's the difference if it's your own hand, or your own mouth that brings your enemy low, Severus? Tell me all you know about him -- him and all his friends -- and I will give you the revenge the Dark Lord would destroy you for daring to ask."

Severus stared up at him for a long moment, inscrutable as a sphinx. Then the dark eyes blinked and the strange gravity in them named itself hope with the unsteady quaver in his voice. "You would do that for me?" he asked, staring hard, "You would give me that?"

Lucius stroked the ivory cheek, then tilted Severus' face up to his for a kiss. "That and far more, my Raven, if you but _trust me_!" And that, of course, was the lure Severus could never resist -- someone to trust, a receptacle for the towering faith which not even a lifetime under siege, first from his father, and then from his classmates, had managed to destroy. What couldn't Lucius do with faith like that?

He claimed his lover's mouth, reveling in the pliancy, in the eager yield beneath his tongue and teeth. Severus yearned toward him, offering up delicate, needy sounds from the deepest, hottest part of him and Lucius drank them down like wine. Only when he was sure the argument had yielded the field to hormones did Lucius pull away with a gasp and a smile.

"So," he flicked a glance at the glimmering bottle at the end of the table, "Are you going to tell me what that is for, or shall I just guess which end of you I'm to apply it to?"

The boy slithered to his feet, still inside the circle of Lucius' arms. "Who says," he murmured against Lucius' ear, "it's meant to go inside _me_ at all?"

"This pretty blush on your cheek, my boy," Lucius chuckled, brushing a finger across the same. And caught out, the pale face stained even more feverishly, until, with a strangled sound, Severus dropped to his knees to escape Lucius' amused regard. Pleased, and a little surprised at this new boldness, Lucius leaned back and purred as Severus' hands slipped up his thighs to brush shyly against his swelling cock. Though the boy bit his lip, still blushing, he did not look up for permission to continue.

"Oh, Severus, you wicked thing," Lucius rewarded the boy's nerve with a sigh as the long, clever fingers slipped into his robes, "whatever shall I do with you?"

The dark haired youth licked the head of his cock once, then peered up through his eyelashes and whispered softly, "Everything?"

 

~*~

 

~*~

 

The moon rose across the poplars, streamed in long ribbons through the windows to splash across the bed, limning the sweat on Severus' back as he arched and tried to claw at the sheets. Lucius, seated balls-deep in the grip of his arse, paused -- trembling with the urge to fuck and fuck hard, but even more eager for the desperate sounds his stillness would wring from his young lover. Nor was he disappointed; the ragged gasp, the desperate, futile tugging at the ties that bound his wrists to the ring in the wall -- these pleaded more loudly than a thousand words could do.

Lucius smiled, stroked his hand gently across those pale shoulders, tracing the winging arc of bone under silvered skin until the body beneath him subsided, surrendered, went taut and still. "Now then," he purred, "tell me about Lupin."

"What, _now?_" Severus' laugh wrung into a groan as Lucius nudged forward to strike the bulging prostate with his cock. "Ahh, sweet Merlin, Lucius _please_!"

"Yes, now," he replied, pulling long and slow out of the silken grip, and relishing the shiver that climbed his own spine, "He was the quiet one, I remember, always keeping to the shadows of his companions -- was that shyness, or cunning?"

"C-cowardice..." Severus groaned the word as, with equally torturous slowness, Lucius pressed back inside him, "He'll do anything to avoid... ahh confrontation. Feels guilty, but not enough to- oh please, Lucius, just-"

"In good time, Precious," he replied, maintaining his pace, "when you've-"

"Don't!"

Lucius blinked, as much at the sudden rigidity in the youth's body as the fury in his tone. Then he frowned and shattered both with a fast, unerring snap of his hips, then another, and another, until Severus all but keened beneath him. "Don't... what, _Precious_?" he ground through his teeth, reaching around to fist Severus' tightly bound cock. The silk ribbon, soaked with precome and sweat, skidded under his fingers.

"D-don't call me-" the youth managed, sobbing, thrusting futilely to meet Lucius' onslaught.

"You _are_!" he hissed, winding his other hand into that raven hair and craning Severus' head back hard, "You are _precious_ to me, and I will. Not. Have. You. Doubt it!" He drove the words into that body, crushed them in deep and savagely, tried to imagine them sinking in deeper than anything Tobias Snape or James Potter or Sirius Black had ever said. He reached between Severus' hard, swollen bollocks, pinched the fluttering end of binding ribbon, and unraveled the knot with a sharp yank.

The boy needed no more than that to come, howling and writhing, tugging against his bindings. The muscles of his arse spasmed wildly, in time to Lucius' strokes on his cock, so tight, so maddening. Delicious and wanton and _precious_, damn it!

"It is quite rude," he went on, calmly measured as Severus' screams subsided into sobbing breaths, as though he had not just barely staved off his own orgasm, "to argue with compliments. Quite rude indeed. You mustn't doubt me so."

"I'm sorry," Severus gasped, hanging not-quite-boneless between his bound wrists and Lucius' grasp on his hips. "I don't," he wriggled just a little then, the insatiable boy, peered back over his shoulder, "not really, it's just-"

"Shh," Lucius stretched forward to kiss him, reveling in the way the reedy boy bent back and arched his spine to accommodate him, "I forgive you. Now;" he pulled out, another long, torturous stroke, "what about Pettigrew?"

 

~*~

 

"What I don't understand," Narcissa mused, leaning easily against the high-topped cutting table and toying with one of the sharp silver knives, just as if she were an invited guest rather than an irksome invader in his workroom, "is why you don't just go to the Dark Lord yourself if it matters to you so much. After all, you wouldn't be the first penniless pureblood who'd thrown himself at a great man's coattails hoping for an easy ride."

"Of course not," Severus replied, hating the way the blood heated his face, "and Lord Voldemort will no doubt be used to it from the likes of you already. Though I, at least, know how to make myself useful." He raised the flask she had brought him in mocking salute, then thumbed the cork out one-handed and poured the dark, clumpy blood into the cauldron.

"Useful," she sniffed, examining her nails in just such a way as to turn her Marked wrist to the torchlight's gleam, "I suppose that will do, if you've no _real_ importance or power to you, but really, don't you find it just a bit tragic that the famous Snape line is reduced to ambitions of _service_? And how terribly sad that the Lord seems to be so much more interested in courting Gryffindor blood traitors like Potter and my cousin Sirius than in a willing toady like you."

He gripped the ladle hard and stirred slowly, swirling scarlet threads like marble veins through the milky white potion. "And you Blacks, I suppose, only went barking to the Death Eaters in search of someone who could look after you when your family insanity renders you all useless." There, the flare of her nostrils, the spiraling flash of steely eye. Severus pocketed the phial with its precious residue and resumed stirring his rival toward a boil. "Do you think the Dark Lord will have a use for the lot of you gibbering sots once he's achieved his goals? Will you be his court jesters, breaking wind and taking pratfalls upon his command? Or perhaps, if any of you have a turn toward divination, you might become his clan of prophetic idiots, kept in padded cells and trotted out to speak in your funny voices at feast days and press releases."

She laughed, a strained and furious sound. The knife stopped its whirring spin against the tabletop and Severus dropped his wand just a little bit out of his sleeve. But she did not attack him. Not with the knife, at least.

"I think we both really know why Lucius keeps you away though," she said, gliding like a vengeful ghost across his workroom to examine the storage shelves, "He knows the Lord wouldn't want you, and doesn't want his family name associated with any pathetic overtures you might make." Severus rolled his eyes and reached for the pile of scarlet yarrow roots, dropping them into the cauldron three at a time and pretending not to listen.

She knew better though, with the same uncanny knack a shark had for scenting blood in the water. "After all, Lord Voldemort is refashioning our world, isn't he? Taking it out of the grip of weak-kneed intellectuals like yourself. What on earth would he want with another such; a knock-kneed school-leaver stewing in his own grease in his keeper's basement, more like a troglodyte than a catamite?" She made a tsking noise and turned with a smile, "Can't see the Dark Lord wanting either, myself. No, I suppose it's better that you stay here, where you can be," she smirked, "useful without being seen."

"Lucius doesn't mind _seeing_ me," he spat, flinging the extra roots aside. "In fact, he seems far more interested in my company than in yours, Narcissa."

"Well, given the way you trot about nosing after him, he couldn't help but feel flattered a bit," she smirked in reply.

"He respects me," Severus bit out, setting the ladle aside and increasing the heat very carefully -- it wouldn't do to blow the whole thing up in an accident of temper, after all. "But since he's never yet had any reason to respect you, I suppose you'd have no basis of comparison, would you?"

"Respects you, does he?" Her laugh turned metallic, like tiny silver bells. "Is that what you think? Then you should hear what he's been saying whenever the Dark Lord's asked about you!"

_He's asked after me?_ Severus turned, glad that his nerveless hands were empty. Torchlight lit the pale woman's eyes like glass -- cold and sharp as she roughened her voice in imitation. "He's but a child, my Lord, with a mind full of potions and no stomach for war. He'd shatter the instant you relied on him. Most likely wouldn't even last through the Marking rite. No, my Lord, better he should be kept away from any real actions."

"Cunt!" Severus took several furious strides toward her before he caught himself.

She gave ground like a cat, grinning and side-slinking in triumph, "If that's all the wit you can muster, then Lucius is wise to keep you far from the Lord's court," she dared him, "You'd be chewed up and spat out before a day had passed. No, far better you should keep on lurking down here where he can "respect you" -- or rather respect your _arse_ without your ugly face frightening the thestrals."

Severus reached down a jar of dragon's claw shavings to cover his shaking fury. "Well," he managed after a long sniff at the spicy contents, "given that he respects nothing whatsoever about you except your cunt, I suppose that puts us about equal, really."

And now it was her turn to flush crimson with fury. "You will never be my equal!" she cut the words out through flashing white teeth. "My 'cunt', as you put it, will give Lucius Malfoy an heir -- secure his line and his fortunes to the future. Your skinny arse will never do that, and when you are a sad old queen, I will still be Lady in these halls! Brew yourself some comfort out of that, if you can!" And she swirled out the door and up the stairs in a fierce rustle.

Severus did not let his triumphant smile fade into the scowl that heated his breast until he could no longer hear her footfalls.

 

~*~

 

Narcissa looked up, startled as Lucius flung wide the door to her bath and stormed in.

"You will cease this behavior at once," he did not shout but the clipped words were sharp enough to cut and cold enough to steam in the humid air. She widened her eyes, but he cut her protest off. "Stop baiting Severus. Stop needling him. I know you've been at him while I was gone and I will not tolerate it! Not from my wife!"

"How amusing! Severus seemed to think I was nothing but your breed-cow," she replied, surging up out of the water and snatching a towel from the wall hook, "If the brat cannot be bothered to keep a civil tongue in his-"

She gasped, staggered as Lucius' hand closed like iron around her arm and he pulled her to him, uncaring at the slosh of water across his boots and robes, "You have been talking about the Dark Lord's business to an unmarked wizard," he hissed, teeth glinting in the candlelit room, "That alone marks you as a fool, but that you _dare_ to try and use Lord Voldemort's commands as a tool to assuage your own petty jealousy makes me wonder if you really deserve to be treated as more than a breed cow!"

He released her arm roughly but she kept her balance, gliding back with a swirl of the towelling sheet around her shoulders. "You are so transparent, _husband_," she sniffed, though her stomach boiled with fury, "I said nothing to him that he couldn't have deduced for himself from the Prophet, if he could be bothered to read anything outside a potions text."

"You brought up Potter and your cousin," his voice, low and thrumming with danger, urged her toward the vanity, where her silver comb lay next to her wand. "You told him about those damned Gryffindors!"

"Oh, pooh!" She waved the idea away like a fly, "I might have done, but so what? He's just winding you up, and we both know it. A pinch or and a poke, and poor ickle Snivellus goes whining to you for protection, because he can dish it out, but Merlin forbid he should need to _take_ it!" She cast him a narrowed glance in the mirror and snorted, "And you call _me_ pathetic?

He was silent for several moments, the gravity between them filled up with such potential as to make her breath flutter in her throat. But she held his reflected eye -- she was a Black, damn him, and she would not be treated like a-

"Wife," he said, precise and terrible, "You have a duty to my house -- a duty you have yet to fulfill, and which I am beginning to believe you incapable of upholding." She drew a breath, sharp words gathering on her tongue, but the look in his eye, the flex of his black-gloved fingers, gave her pause. "If you cannot find the basic grace within yourself to do as I have asked you, then I suggest you look to the definition of 'obedience', which was a significant element of your marriage oath to me."

"Obedience!" She gasped and he smiled as the blood rushed to her face.

"Exactly. And if neither of those motivate you, allow me to appeal to the final sum of the equation: stop alienating Severus. He just might be your only hope of providing the House of Malfoy with an heir before I am legally within my rights to put you aside in favor of a bride who can."

And he turned on his heel and he strode from the room, boots ringing crisp and angry on the tiles as she struggled with a million things she wanted to scream. She settled at last for hurling the crystal vase at the door as it swung closed behind him. Then for good measure, she kicked the house elf who appeared to clean it up.

 

~*~

 

Severus dressed in his everyday broadcloth on the morning of Solstice eve. He went about the day as he would have done any other, save that he avoided the morning parlor, where the tree glittered in achingly well-designed taste, and the presents underneath it smirked. He took care to be fully embroiled in a very complex potion when Lucius came to bid him good evening before accompanying Narcissa to her sister's party. Neither was fooled, but both relieved to avoid a fight.

He waited all day before he even considered changing his clothes. The sunset finally decided him -- the light spilling sanguine and silent through the almost-empty house. He knew they wouldn't be back from the Lestranges until very late, assuming they returned that night at all. He let the red light lead him back to his rooms, to where the new formal robes still hung on the wardrobe door, just where the house elves had laid them out that morning. He scowled at them for a moment, then sighed, stripped, and put on Lucius' most recent extravagant gift.

The robes were made of thick, lush velvet and heavy silk, glittering with silver thread at collar and cuffs, and decorated with sinuous pewter serpent clasps down the front. They hung about Severus' body in voluptuous, sweeping folds, making his shoulders square to the weight, pulling his spine long and boosting his chin high as he examined himself in the mirror.

Without his lover's knowing smirk over his shoulder, Severus could admit that the heart's-blood red he had so complained about when Lucius picked the fabrics out did indeed warm his normally sallow skin, turning it to bisque and ivory under the sable gloss of his newly washed hair. And the cut of the robes did manage to make him at once tall, imposing, and somehow graceful. But not in a womanish way, he was a bit relieved to note. He smoothed his hands over the close-cut front, grudgingly pleased with how the slight flare of fabric at the base of his hand made his large fingers seem tapered and elegant.

Severus took a step toward the mirror, felt the robes trail out behind him in a hissing, weighty swath. Dragging like a bride's train against the Aubusson carpet, drifting up just enough to show the gleaming Italian boots Lucius had insisted upon ordering for him on the same afternoon the tailor came to take his measure for the robes. He took another step.

And then he very nearly took the robes back off again.

He had never owned such clothing in all his life. He'd seen his grandparent's paintings attired as richly, and even one small, secret photo of his mother as a bride, smiling and happy in opulent silver and pearl. Such trappings were for them, for _her_ before life, husband, and child stripped all away but the memories. Severus had learned early that such fine things were not for the likes of him though, and that wanting what he couldn't have brought far worse consequences than doing without.

So he had emphatically _not_ wanted. He'd even poisoned himself three years running just to avoid his upper class Yule Ball. Just so he wouldn't have to appear in threadbare, third-hand, ill-fitting robes and look like a gangling fool while Potter and Black strutted their family's wealth about like peacocks.

And now here he was, arrayed in the finest clothing his lover's wealth could buy. Without so much as a knut of his own in his pocket.

"I look a right fool," he grumbled, "poncing about in formal robes for the house elves amusement." But as his fingers brushed the clasps, he stopped himself with a hard glower. "It is Solstice Eve," he said and let his hands drop.

Solstice eve. His first since leaving Hogwarts, and for all he was spending it alone in a strange house, Severus couldn't escape the memory of his mother's voice. _This night calls for some reverence, my love,_ she had said the same thing every year as she buttoned them both into the very best clothes they had left -- the same ones they wore year after year, though the stretching charms wore the fabric shiny and brittle. _We must greet it with the best we can._

It wasn't until he was older that he recognized the despair that had lurked underneath her smooth, warm voice. Then he'd stopped asking why Father did not dress up for Yule even though he had much finer robes than either of them did, and why sometimes he didn't come home on that night at all. He'd stopped asking why he was never allowed to attend any of the Yule parties mother's friends invited them to, and why some years there weren't even any gifts even between the two of them. There was always, however, that one stupid ritual. _One must dress in one's very best on Solstice Eve_. A conceit left over from the ghost of Eileen Prince's happy childhood. It haunted Severus as much as it did his mother, but in all his seventeen years, he had never once tried to tell her he wouldn't.

"And besides," he straightened his shoulders and put on his most dignified expression, "Lucius will no doubt insist you wear these foolish things for him at some point or other. Better to learn how to manage them now, while there's nobody about to laugh."

It was easier than he expected, actually, though it took Severus awhile to learn how to turn around without tripping on the trailing hem. Eventually he found a pattern however; a longer stride, a sharper pivot, a subtle thrust and twist of his hips to sling the mass of fabric behind him. The fitted breast slithered across his skin as he moved, feeling, as the fabric warmed to his body, almost like a caress, the heavy, lush folds brushing across his muslin braes made his cock stiffen in the bend of his hip. He stopped moving, blushed fiercely as he nudged the damned thing out of a pinch and flat up against his belly. The wiry hair tickled maddeningly along his shaft, and Severus shivered as the head of his cock found its way out of its foreskin to rasp deliciously along the muslin.

"Stop it," he told himself, scowling down at the bulge that marred the line of his robes, "I'm not going to go wanking like a third year the instant he's away for the goddamn evening! Now just bloody-" A wild hooting cut him off, and Severus stumbled in alarm when three owls soared into the room through the mail chute.

"He's not -- hey, piss off, he's not here!" Severus shouted, waving his arm as the first and fastest of the birds, a broad-shouldered horned owl, made as if to land on him. "They're at the Lestranges for the evening, you idiotic- Archimedes?" He gasped as a screech owl, patchy grey and glowering, latched onto his velvet-covered wrist. Severus stared at the tiny bird, its perpetually molting feathers making a lopsided tonsure on his head. His mother's owl -- there couldn't be two such bad tempered birds in the world. "It _is_ you- Ow!" Archimedes bit Severus finger before allowing him to remove the tiny letter and a worn velvet bag from his leg. Severus shook his arm hard, flinging the wretched thing off to perch on his bedpost. Shouldering each other for space on the mail-roost beside the fireplace, the other two owls hooted in amusement.

"I hope you don't expect to be paid, you cretin," he grumbled around his bleeding knuckle. Archimedes leaned over and cast on his counterpane by way of answer. Severus sighed and took the parchment to the fireside, collecting the letters from the other two owls -- the horned owl from Hogwarts with an official-looking letter in the Headmaster's hand, and the barn owl from the Rosiers, bearing a note addressed in Evan's untidy scrawl. He decided both could wait, and since his unwanted erection had the good sense to fade away, Severus sighed and settled down to read his mother's letter first.

_My dear son. It seems you are more elusive than ever, given that even your friends do not seem to know where to send your correspondence this holiday season. I suppose these letters are merely greetings of the season, but to be certain of it, I have redirected them to you rather than paying the owls myself. So you need not think that anything has been removed from them._

"And so Father won't have the chance loot them in search of gifts for his mistresses," he amended his mother's genteel lie as he would never have done had she been present.

_I am writing you from the new solarium of the castle, snug in a fine new robe of amber wool and marten fur, with sapphire clasps. The feast is done, and the house elves have built up the fire to a fine blaze around the Yule log. They're stringing faerie lit garlands in great, green swaths over the walls and singing in lovely harmonies while they work._

Severus rolled his eyes. She still played that foolish fantasy game with him, after all these years -- as though he didn't know she would have written the letter in the light of the kitchen hearth to save the candles. As if he didn't know that the last new robes she'd had had been her mourning clothes for her mother's funeral six years ago. As if he didn't know she wore the same unrelieved black on every Solstice eve since then, and that the 'feast' in question was nothing but the same sad fruitcake her second cousin from Canada sent them every year. As if he didn't know that Father had sold their last house elf before Severus had even got his Hogwarts letter!

_Only one thing could make this Solstice eve more pleasant, my dearest, though after the scene with your Father at the train station, I suppose I can see why you might prefer to stay away. But only for awhile, surely? You mustn't take his bluster so seriously, my dearest. He's a foolish old man and his temper sometimes outstrips him -- makes him say things he oughtn't to._

"Like calling me a catamite and a filthy whore at the top of his lungs?" Severus growled, scowling as he ran a nervous hand down the front of his new robes. The clinging nap of the cloth raised a different sort of shiver now, and Severus tugged the high collar a little looser.

_I am certain he never intended to be insulting to your friend, Severus, only you must understand how surprised Tobias was to learn that you would not be coming home again after leaving Hogwarts. You can hardly blame him for being gruff now, can you?_

"Yes, in fact, I can," Severus felt better for growling.

_And you always did know just how to provoke your father terribly, you know, so you really should not lay the whole blame for that awful scene at his feet. I wish you could make peace with him, for my sake, dearest, but I suppose you have inherited his stubborn temper, so I shall not waste much energy wishing in vain._

_I will send these birds on to you now, so that you'll know I am thinking of you this evening and perhaps not feel too lonely. I wish I could send something nice for you as well, dearest, but do not think we will have quite enough for it this year -- the bills, of course. The vultures must always be fed, mustn't they? Still, I hope you know that I love you, my clever one, my only son, my gentle joy, my priceless boy._  
_All my love_,  
_Mother._

_ _P.S. Please give Archimedes something for his trouble, if you don't mind. It is quite a long flight for an old owl, after all._ _

Severus put the letter down and glared at the flames. Eventually the urge to fling the parchment into the grate passed and he could stand to carefully roll his mother's letter back up, set it aside, and examine the little pouch that had accompanied it. It crunched in an odd, glassy way as Severus picked loose the knotted cords. He poured the contents into his palm and then gasped as he recognized the glittering web of silver and jet black.

His mother's necklace. The last remnant of her dowry, and for all Severus knew, of the fortune his grandfather had settled on his only child as well. Why in the world would she send him this?

He scanned her letter again, searching between her lines for some clue or unspoken plea, but came up with nothing besides the pleasant fictions she always tried to paint in her correspondence. He cast a cipher spell upon it, but the words did not re-arrange, and no further message appeared on the creamy parchment. It wasn't until he examined the pouch more closely that Severus found the note from his father.

_If you cannot be bothered to come home and visit your mother for Yule, boy, the least you should do is send her a gift. She has sent this old necklace of hers along as a present for Malfoy's proper wife, and you know she would probably like something nice to wear in its place. Your friend is wealthy enough, and I suppose he'll loan you the money for something appropriate. Or you could just send the galleons here and I'll find something she likes if you're too proud now to take such trouble for your poor relations._   
_Either way, don't tarry too long about it, boy.  
_Father.__

Severus took a deep breath, held it until his eyes watered. Then he blew the air out carefully, as carefully as he would have stirred a dragonfire elixir; not a jostle, not a rustle, lest the whole mixture explode. With movements precise and terrible, he refolded the scrap of paper, and set it beside his mother's scroll, so he could spread the delicate antique necklace across the velvet draping his lap.

When he'd been a little boy, the jet necklace had seemed a treasure, lacing about his mother's long, pale throat in intricate, glittering patterns, catching the light in subtle glints every time she breathed. He remembered toying with the dangling black pendants while sitting in her lap after Yule dinner -- Father smoking and playing cards with Grandfather in the closed room, Grandmother dozing in the huge oak chair by the fire.

She only ever wore it at Yule, he recalled, and so he had known it was precious. The necklace and the woman were, to his infant, ignorant self, the most beautiful things in the world. And of course, in the tiny world of the Snape household, they had been. But the Malfoy world was a different place. Where Eileen Snape had worn delicate, elegant jet for her finest occasions, Narcissa Malfoy casually dripped diamonds and sarcenet for any old luncheon or shopping trip.

And now, while his mother pretended a determined naiveté, his father stole her treasure, sending it to Severus with one hand while demanding cash or pawnable goods with the other. Severus burned with shame on her behalf, and for the fact that, even if he pawned the necklace, it would bring a pittance against the level of debt he knew his father had roused between the gaming tables and his search for rich mistresses.

Eileen was not stupid, for all she chose not to look at certain things -- she must have known the necklace wouldn't fetch much. She must have allowed Tobias to send it in order to let Severus keep it safe. Because if his creditors pressed him hard enough, Tobias Snape would pawn even his wife if he could manage it. "And you have the nerve to call **me** a whore," Severus growled at the fire, sweeping the necklace into his fist and then pouring it from one hand to the other.

But the hell of it all was that the insult was true, or very nearly so. Severus' life _was_ that of a courtesan; kept and paid for with gold that never saw his own hands, spoiled and occupied with toys that stank of reward and distraction. And though he was being 'paid' for services he'd have wanted to render anyway, though he was 'kept' for warming the bed he longed for, and 'rewarded' for yielding to the voice and hand and glittering eyes that had left Severus breathless with longing since his bumbling school years, the gifts, the luxury, the confinement and the _secrets_ still stuck like a stone in his craw.

With another groaning sigh, Severus poured the necklace into his pocket and summoned a house elf. One came quickly enough, but of course it did not bow nearly so deeply as it would have done had Lucius been there. He ordered it to reward the owls and to bring him a bottle of Lucius' extremely expensive cognac with his supper. Not that he preferred the stuff really, but if he was to be reviled as the man's whore, he ought at least to avail himself of the benefits of such a position.

The letter from Evan Rosier was rife with a shallow dandy's cheer, urging Snape to come out and play with the rest of the boys in exactly the way none of them had ever done when he had actually craved such attention. Thinly veiled boasts of _exciting work_, and _important company_ dotted throughout the sloppily scrawled text without pretense to subtlety. Rosier tossed out lures like a rat catcher pitching poisoned cheese, and Severus wondered idly if the Dark Lord's newer minions somehow expected a commission on referrals.

"You must come to the Solstice, old man," Severus imitated Rosier's vapid prattle through a curl of his lip, "I'm sure I can make the right introductions... Hmph. And how conveniently you fail to mention _where_ the party is. Twat." Severus pitched the useless letter into the grate, glowering as the flames furled it tight upon itself. He pointedly did not think about what Lucius' reaction to the invitation would have been.

The letter from Hogwarts contained Severus' official NEWT scores and certificate, which were pretty much as expected -- perfect marks in potions, history, arithmancy and ancient runes; better than he'd expected in charms, astronomy, and divination (where his morbid imagination seemed to have served him in good stead;) disappointingly average at transfigurations, and appalling at Muggle studies and magical creatures. What was unexpected, however, was a second certificate stating that he had, through his extra course work and extensive testing at Hogwarts, graduated with all the requirements for a first-level Mastery in Potions.

And Merlin, didn't _that_ send a burn of pride right down to where it was needed! For it was something HE had done -- Severus, and nobody else. His father had neither wit, talent, nor patience for brewing, a fact of which, once Severus started learning how many ways a person could die by poison, he was glad. And while his mother had the brains for it, no well-bred lady would adopt a hobby so rife with foul fumes to mar the skin and wilt the hair and overcome the finest perfume, with smelly, greasy ingredients that could stain fingers and ruin gowns and fade rosy complexions to yellow.

But Severus was, by Merlin, GOOD at it. Even his friends in Slytherin house didn't really understand how much that meant, or why even with his talent, Severus had been driven so hard to excel at this one thing. They'd rolled their eyes and sniped a bit, but they'd been glad enough of him when their homework came due, or when old Professor Slughorn sprang an unexpected exam. Even Lucius' understanding of it smacked of indulgence and conciliation for an interest the man clearly did not share.

But this… Severus smoothed the thick parchment with reverent fingers, this was no indulgence, this was a triumph. First level Mastery, and him not yet eighteen. That was, he decided, a hell of a thing.

The house elf appeared with food and drink, and Severus set his coveted achievement aside, laying it directly over the letters from home. But then a rustle caught his attention and he spotted another, smaller card between the pages. A note, hand-written in the Headmaster's tilting, looping script.

_Young Master Snape, congratulations!_ it read, _This certificate makes you, I believe, the youngest potions Master in several hundred years, if I am not mistaken -- and I do not believe myself to be. No small achievement, that, and I hope you will excuse my being just a little proud that you did it here at Hogwarts, despite what many would call a troubling few years._

"Many more would call it torture, old man," Severus grumbled, ignoring the pleased warmth that spread through his breast as he read the headmaster's praise.

_In light of your achievement, I should like to extend the offer we discussed briefly before you boarded the Hogwarts Express last spring. Professor Slughorn has told me that he does indeed intend to take his retirement two years from now, and that he was more than a little interested in having you here as a teaching assistant during that time. I could offer you room and board and a salary, of course, as well as a stipend through the school's apprenticeship accounts that would cover your further courses and supplies toward second and possibly third-level Mastery in potions. Of course this arrangement would be subject to renegotiation as your credentials and your workload evolved, eventually leading to your assuming the position of Hogwarts Potions Master if all went well._   
_Do please consider my offer carefully, as it is extended in the sincere hope of your acceptance._   
_Best regards,_   
_Albus Dumbledore,_   
_Headmaster, Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Severus scowled, willed his heart to slow back down to a reasonable pace. Curse the old man for knowing just what he'd want! How to pay for his third level Mastery had been a problem Severus had wracked his brains over from the day he'd left school.

A first level Mastery would allow him to get a job in another brewer's shop, but he knew that such a thing would spell the final straw for his family. Because the Snapes had never been merchants or tradesmen in the hundreds of years the family traced its inky lines -- scholars, warriors, princes and statesmen of the highest degree, but never, ever _shopkeepers_. Better he should be a rich man's catamite, better a whore, a parasite, a common thief than that a Snape should dishonour the ancient family name by _selling_ anything! And still Severus knew that he could absolutely never stomach allowing Lucius to pay for the classes.

But teaching? Teaching wasn't trade. Teaching wasn't charity. Teaching was an honourable profession and a scholarly, wise occupation for a man of intellect. A man could damn well speak of his son as a teacher with some pride, couldn't he?

As soon as the thought brushed the edge of Severus' mind, he hated himself for it. "I don't care what that bastard thinks," he reminded himself, taking a gulp of cognac and letting the alcohol's burn drown out the disgust twisting in his belly.

And now here was Dumbledore holding out that damned, treacherous hope like a lemon drop in his hand. Not wealth, not luxury, not power, no -- but _respectability_. And worse, the shadowy mirage of actual respect at its root. Respect. Had there been anything in his entire life Severus had striven after harder, failed to win more often?

_It is extended in the sincere hope of your acceptance._ Severus read the words again, telling himself they were hollow. They were a shallow sop of an apology for Dumbledore's having allowed the harm that Potter and Black had done him all those years. They were a condescending pat on the head and an 'attaboy' for having kept Lupin's dangerous secret. As if Severus didn't know perfectly well that the creature had no human mind or discretion under the moon's influence.

But even as the familiar blustering scorn filled up his mind, Severus knew he was lying to himself. The offer was real and he knew it. Whatever labyrinthine plans lay behind the old Headmaster's extended hand, Severus knew that Albus Dumbledore sincerely meant every word he had written. And damn the man, that meant that the only thing _really_ keeping Severus from accepting the offer was his own pride.

Because he couldn't bear the thought of going back to Dumbledore's school now -- not with Potter and Black clutched so bosom-close to the old man. He understood why he had been forbidden to ruin the werewolf's life with his revenge against the beast's _friends_, but it didn't stop him burning with the injustice having been told not to do it, and having to watch Black's smug triumph as his attempt at _murder_ went by with barely a slap on the wrist.

"Hmph," he sneered, "No understanding in the world is worth exposing myself to those two sadistic bastards again!" And he made to toss the card into the fire, but it fluttered awry as the flames blazed up high and green and Lucius Malfoy swept out from under the high carved mantle.

Alarmed, Severus scrambled out of the chair, fouling his legs in the robe's train and staggering wildly. Lucius stepped close and caught his shoulders before he could fall. "Carefully, pet," he chuckled, the glint in his blue eyes turning smug as he took in the blood red robes. One hand twitched his collar straight, and Severus felt his stomach twist.

"What are you doing here?" he bit out, shrugging off Lucius' hand and shaking the train out of his way so he could stalk across the room, "I thought you were meant to be enjoying your sister-in-law's hospitality?" He turned at the bedside and his temper notched up to find Lucius leaning against the high-backed chair, watching him with an undisguisedly proprietary smirk.

"They suit you," he said as Severus lifted his chin in challenge, "The robes. I'm glad you finally decided to put them on." Lucius unfastened his over-cloak and let it slide to the carpet. Severus followed it with his eyes, a part of his mind wondering distractedly what it would be like to never look for his clothes anywhere but in his wardrobe, no matter where he'd last dropped them. "Besides," Lucius caught up Severus' abandoned snifter from the table and took a sip, "I can't say it's a poor trade -- Narcissa and Bellatrix' incessant nattering gossip, Rodolphus' interminable hunting stories, and Rastaban's shameless leering for the chance to see that you're pleased with your gift."

And Merlin, how those eyes could mesmerize him. How they could shunt every drop of blood straight down into his braes with just one heated blue stare. Severus realized he'd been absently stroking the lush velvet over one thigh and stilled his hand, flushing. "I..." he made a fist, hating the heat that spread across his cheekbones, "They are..." _Ridiculous. Beautiful. Extravagant. Too rich for me._ "nice. Though they seem very heavy for wearing indoors," he added as Lucius' smirk spread into a wide smile, "and this mess dragging about behind precludes wearing them outside, so they seem a bit..." he sighed and stopped trying. "I do like them. I do."

Lucius at last stepped away from the chair, his fair brow knit as he caught the unspoken hesitation. "But," he prompted.

Severus shrugged, admitting it as if the thought didn't ache like a block of ice in his stomach. "But I should've liked to have had some sort of gift for you." And there, just as he'd feared it would be, was Lucius' dismissive wave.

"Now you're just being silly," the blond smiled, setting the snifter aside, "I thought I'd made it plain before; you are gift enough just in yourself, Severus." He crossed the room in easy strides, no more bothered by the layered weight of his visiting robes than by his own skin. Severus fought down a shiver -- envy, arousal, anger, shame, or all of them perhaps -- as Lucius curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Gentle exploration gave way to heated claim, desire whelming everything else in Severus' head as he gave himself over.

"I am grateful already," Lucius breathed at length, "but if you _must_ give me something tonight..." his hand swept a knowing path down Severus' ribs, stealing his breath, making his cock throb impatiently. Severus wanted nothing more than to drag it down to his crotch. To have those strong, sure fingers wrap his cock in a clinging swath of velvet and silk and squeeze until he forgot his own name... but he only leaned against the bedpost and groaned, because he knew better than to try and hurry that hand moulding the velvet to his skin over the point of his hip, fingers just teasing his arse on their way down to-

"Severus?" Lucius asked, his amused voice startling him out of the sensual daze, "I'd ask if you had something in your pocket, only I know you're glad to see me."

"I'm. What." Severus blinked, "Oh. That's-"

"And what are all these owls doing in here?" Lucius went on, turning away in mock exasperation, though his fingers brushed along Severus' rampant cock as he did, "Were you taking advantage of my absence to send letters to your admirers?"

Severus thumped his head against the bedpost, looked up into Archimedes' reproving glower, and then pushed away before he got splattered with anything. "I had letters from friends, Lucius," he snarked, surreptitiously readjusting his cock against his belly, "I do have them, you know. And family as well. It is not unheard of on Solstice eve..."

"Your father wrote you?" Lucius' voice cut like ice through Severus' temper, "What did he want, another pound of flesh?" Lucius stalked back to the fireside, snatched up the cognac again, "Or did he simply write you in order to further insult me and my family?"

In a second, Severus realized, Lucius was going to look down. In a second, he was going to see the Mastery certificate, the NEWTS scores… the letter from his mother. Severus' guts knotted in protest and he lurched a step after his lover. "He told me to write to my mother," he said.

Lucius' eyes narrowed at the wobble in his voice. "He wants money, doesn't he?" The question took him like a kick to the chest, and Severus couldn't stop himself flinching. "I'd heard at the club he lost a Goblin's horde at the tables last month," Lucius went on, his voice growing gleeful with spite, "though Nimue knows where the hell he'd got it to gamble with in the first place. And now he's up to his chin in debt again, with the rough trade circling his boat, so he comes wheedling to you for a bucket to bail with?"

"No, it's just-"

But Lucius turned away, summoning a house elf with a snap. "Take yourself to my secretary's house and wake him," he told the cringing thing, "He is to owl Tobias Snape first thing tomorrow morning and send a note for..." he glanced at Severus, "Five hundred should do, wouldn't you think?"

Severus managed to find a breath. The world seemed to be opening up at his feet -- a terrible, hungry vortex that roared like pounding blood or his mother's voice in his ears. _my clever one, my only son, my gentle joy, my priceless boy. _ "That little?" He managed through his teeth.

"You're right, of course," Lucius chuckled, "The way he loses, that'll hardly stand him for a month once he's paid off his creditors. A thousand galleons against my Gringott's accounts then, to make the wretch properly grateful," Lucius went on, "Once that's done he's to go out and buy a present for Eileen Snape. Jewelery of some sort..." he gave Severus a shrewd, measuring glance, then let his grin out again -- the prideful, greedy one that never failed to burn down the length of Severus' spine and turn his bones to want…until now. "Sapphires, I think, to judge by your looks, Severus. Sapphires in white gold. And they're to be charmed against theft from her husband as well. That card will be signed from Severus."

Turning away, one arm curled tight over his belly, Severus closed his eyes and let the whirling blackness consume him. Priceless. No more. A thousand galleons and a suite of sapphires in white gold were his price. Lucius' name on the note of hand. Severus name in a stranger's handwriting on the jewels.

Not even Black had reduced him to this.

The ping of the house elf's departure brought Severus' eyes open again. He could hear the susurrus of cloth on cloth behind him, could smell leather and cologne, feel the heat pouring off Lucius as he approached. "Severus?" It was the first time he could ever remember hearing uncertainty in that polished voice.

He turned on his heel, snatched a double handful of Lucius' robes, and pulled the man close for a bruising, plundering kiss. The muted grunt of surprise melted into approval as Severus wound his arms tight around Lucius' muscular shoulders, pinning his arms down and crushing their cocks between them.

_A thousand galleons._He wound his fingers tight in the fall of ivory silk and tugged Lucius' head even farther back, dragging his mouth down the smooth-angled jaw to bite hard just under the ear, where always before, he had only dared to suckle. Lucius groaned like a starving man, fingers clutching at Severus' robes, as if they could get any closer.

_Sapphires in white gold._ He took two long steps, carrying Lucius along by virtue of his longer legs, and the continued attack on his throat. His knee bumped the foot board, and Severus threw all his weight behind heaving Lucius sidelong onto his bed, where the man sprawled with a breathless laugh.

"Don't take this as dispute, my Raven," he said, lips kiss-swollen and slick, throat purpled with bites and suck-marks, eyes blazing with heat, "but may I ask what exactly this is meant to be?"

Severus closed his eyes. Took a breath that almost didn't shake. _My priceless boy._ "Your Solstice present," he said at last, swarming over the elegantly disheveled blond on his bed, "the best bloody fuck you'll ever have!"

And if Lucius laughed, at least he didn't argue.

 

~*~

 

Narcissa arrived with Bellatrix first thing Yule morning, setting the house elves into a furore of panicked preparation. Once Lucius gave up trying to ignore the frantic, manor-wide rustling and made one of the terrified creatures tell him what the matter was, he learned that the Sisters Black had invited the Dark Lord, and his entire principal court to celebrate the holiday. In his home. That very night.

Incandescent with rage, Lucius sought out his wife and demanded an accounting, but it seemed the elf had spoken truth. In Lucius' absence the night before sisters had, in a fit of holiday cheer, applied their charms to Lord Voldemort and convinced him to move his party to Malfoy Manor. His welcome, and that of all his guests had been assured no less than had Lucius made the promise himself. Retracting it would be impossible.

Worse, Severus had heard the whole, standing silent in the breakfast room while Narcissa polished her most charming and insincere smiles and Bellatrix -- clearly the architect of the plan -- smirked in undisguised triumph. Lucius didn't dare try and send the boy away now. A single look at those glittering black eyes said plainly that Severus would not stand for it.

Still, knowing how to pick his battles had always been Lucius Malfoy's strong suit. He eased his temper, his pride, and the cold dread clenching his heart by telling Narcissa brusquely to get on with her preparations and to try not to shame his family. Then he took Severus back to bed and kept him there until well past lunchtime.

 

~*~

 

"Stay."

The boy squirmed. "I'm tired."

Lucius did not stop tracing the lazy sunlit pattern across Severus' thigh. "So stay here and sleep."

"I'm tired of this bed, Lucius," Severus scowled, "And of this room. I need to go to my workroom."

"Your workroom," he raised an eyebrow, "Ought I to be offended?"

"It's just I've got potions down there I'm working on, remember?" He managed to wriggle loose at last, surprisingly determined, considering how much Lucius had made sure he enjoyed the morning's debauch, "I don't trust either one of those bloody bi-" he glanced at Lucius, who forbade the insult with a frown and slight headshake. "I don't trust them not to sabotage something."

"Come now," Lucius sat up, pleasantly sore in all the right places, "Narcissa knows you are working on her behalf, Severus, and that I expect her to take the potion you brew. The woman may be foolish at times, but she isn't a fool."

"And her sister?" Severus challenged, shaking out his braes before stepping into them, "What do you imagine will stop Bellatrix from hexing my cauldrons to explode in my face? The Milk of Human Kindness?"

Lucius yawned and stretched, pleased with the view as Severus collected his broadcloth robes from the wardrobe and quickly dressed. "Fine then. Ward her out. She isn't a Malfoy, so the house won't override in her favour. Then come back to me."

"And who will oversee the final stage of your wife's potion, Lucius?" Severus asked, waspish and adorable as he snatched up a handful of papers from the fireside table, "Or have you decided you don't need that heir after all?"

Lucius pulled a face, but lay back into the pillows to watch in amused silence as his Raven settled his feathers and stalked out of the room. For all his cawing and cackling, for all his temper and prickly, stubborn pride the boy was worth every bit of his keeping. He was a beautiful thing all the more for that homeliness that lifted away when passion suffused his face, for the pure rapture that Lucius' knowing touch had trained him to accept and crave. Lured in like a wild and wary bird, tamed and tempted until the touch of one man's hand was all the reward he craved, and praise from one man's voice could draw him unerringly home.

"You are mine," Lucius told the absent boy, stroking his hand across the still-warm pillows where he had so recently lain, "and you know it. Tonight will bring no challenge to that, no matter what Narcissa tries."

With another languid stretch, Lucius rolled out of the bed, and went to avail himself of Severus' en suite bath. He summoned a harried house elf for food and fresh clothes, and told the creature to see that Severus had something to eat as well. The youth was too thin even after six months under Lucius' roof -- he could hardly be indulged in his habit of setting potions above sustenance until he'd gained a few more pounds, at least.

But the creature returned halfway through his own meal, trembling and stammering to report that Severus would not come from his workroom, and would allow the elves to bring no food or drink therein.

"Tell him it is my wish that he should do so," Lucius shrugged.

"We has done this, Master," the elf whispered, "only he has told us to be pissing off. And the Mistress's Sister, sir, she hexes us now when we come."

"Bellatrix?" Lucius frowned, "she has no business down there."

"This is what Mr. Severus Snape sir says, Master, but still she does not go."

And suddenly Severus' refusal was clear. He couldn't order Bellatrix out himself, but Lucius could do it, and though he'd sooner chew nails than call for help, he knew the house elves had no such pride at stake. Lucius sat back with a smile as the timed heating charm refreshed the water and set it steaming anew. "Very well," he told the elf, "Keep his meal warm while you punish yourself, and have clean robed brought from my rooms at once. I shall summon you to him when I wish you to bring it."

The elf disappeared with a wince and a shivering pop. Lucius rose from the tub, foregoing the thick, soft towelling sheets just this once for the speed of a drying charm. He would have Severus make it up to him later, he decided as another trembling elf appeared, tottering under a pile of clothing higher than its head. After all, they would both have proper dressing to do before the festivities of the evening, and Lucius felt certain there would be ample opportunity for another, more recreational bath before then.

 

~*~

 

"You misjudge me, Mrs. Lestrange," Severus' voice floated up the stairs, almost glittering with bruised innocence, "I have only your sister's very best interests at heart." Lucius paused on the stair, amused and intrigued. It wasn't so surprising really, that Bellatrix had come down to try Severus' mettle after all -- she had done Narcissa's knifework all throughout their school days, after all, so why should she forebear to attack her rival now? Still, Bellatrix had only known Severus from his silent, bookish days at school. She had taken no notice of him then, and so she had no idea the fine temper that seethed beneath his Raven's gleaming coat now. Lucius cast a light camouflage spell upon himself and settled in to eavesdrop and be amused.

"A Slytherin has only his own interests at heart, darkling," Bellatrix replied. Lucius grit his teeth to hear the flirt beneath it. Married five years, and the woman still preened like a cat to get her way with any man. "Still, Narcissa tells me you are brewing something for her, and I can't but wonder what a sly thing like you could be concealing within your cauldrons. An aphrodisiac? Something to bind her to you as you've bound her husband?"

"Of course not!" Severus voice was perfect affronted pride. The gleaming belly of the cauldron showed the dark haired witch slinking around Severus' back as he stirred the small cauldron on his worktable, her one small white hand trailing along his sleeve like the caressing tail of a cat. "I have absolutely no int-"

"A dose to steal the wit and the will then?" Bellatrix went on, "That is what I would do to my rival, had I any living; turn her into a hollow-eyed idiot and then leave her unattended at a high stair? Or perhaps bring her visions of horror and agony. Perfect atrocity ringing in her skull until it should drive her screaming into..." she leaned close, tip-toe high to breathe the word into Severus' ear, "madness?" Lucius came down another step, just enough to see the pair directly.

"The Black bloodline requires no such aid from me." Severus ground out, shrugging the woman roughly off without pausing in his stirring. "And I would not betray Lucius' trust like that." He stepped back and doused the flames beneath the cauldron with an angry wand-flourish.

"Ahh. So it is poison then," she nodded conspiratorially and rolled something small and glassy across the worktop. "You mean to set your lover free from the terrible burden his lawful wife has become?" Severus answered only with a disgusted glare before he summoned a rack of empty phials. He selected five smallish ones, and then set to with his ladle with precise, unhurried movements. No stranger to the game, Bellatrix watched him fill and seal the doses with her smirk unwavering.

At last, Severus capped the last dose and leveled his best sneer at the woman. "This is a potion called _Rhea's Draught_," he told her as though she were simple, "Each dose will guarantee Narcissa a child from the next coupling after she takes it. Very dark magic, very complex, terribly difficult to brew. I'm not surprised you don't recognize it."

Lucius was hard pressed not to laugh aloud at the look that crossed Bellatrix Lestrange's face as Severus turned his back on her and set about cleaning up his work area. Rage, envy, cunning and a hunger as vast as the sea all took their turn in her steely eyes. She thought, no doubt, of her own poisoned womb, of the three miscarriages it had spat out since she'd taken Rodolphus' name, money, and wits. _Trust you, my Raven to know the Black cat's Achilles heel,_ Lucius thought a toast to his protégé, _Now let us see what use you make of it... Ah, there._ Her glance scraped across the phials on the table and Lucius watched her count them. Five doses. Five children for her sister, when she herself might well never bear even one of her own alive.

Lucius schooled the grin from his face, banished his concealment charm and brought his boot heel down on the next step with a sharp tap. Severus glanced over his shoulder with barely a nod, but Bellatrix whirled with glittering, triumphant eyes as Lucius strode into the room. "Cousin," he said, "Your… enthusiasm is to be commended, I suppose, but the guests tonight will not have access to Severus' private workroom. You've no need to waste any more of your valuable time here."

"Thank Nimue for that," she laughed, low and purringly in her throat and Lucius' stomach turned over in revulsion as it always did, "not even an army of elves could clear away the noxious smell of this place. Why I'm sure the fumes will make your billiards room all but unusable tonight." She fanned her hand beneath her nose and pulled a moue of disgust as she edged past Lucius toward the stairs. "Still, I suppose you can have your boy brew up some perfume or other before the guests arrive. He ought to be able to manage something that simple, at least." And she swept up the stairs with neither pause nor glance to see if her barb had struck home.

Lucius held his smile in until he could no longer hear her retreating footsteps. "That's going to do something horrible to her, isn't it, my Raven?" Lucius asked, counting the bottles on the worktop.

"Why Lucius, I'm shocked that you distrust me so!" Severus at last turned from his sink with a wide-eyed expression that looked utterly alien on his face, "Rhea's Draught is a blood potion -- a menstrual blood potion, I might add. As I told Bellatrix, the dose I give to Narcissa will give her exactly one child. A son." his ingénue mask slipped into an evil grin as Lucius raised a doubtful eyebrow "Afterward, however, it will wither her vitals like winter apples so that she will live the rest of her life in terror of you taking her only child away from her."

Delighted despite himself, Lucius beamed. "You see why I call you a genius? And I assume her loathsome sister will get more or less the same effect from it?"

Severus' smile grew, if possible, even more vicious. "No. It wasn't _her_ blood in the potion, was it? It's close enough that it won't melt her guts into soup as it would do to a stranger, but I'm afraid the noble line of Lestrange won't grow any twisted little fruits from Bellatrix' branch of it." He twirled his ladle absently and mused, "Oh, and it might send her mad as well. We shall have to watch and see."

And finally, Lucius laughed, long and comfortably, drawing his lover close and reveling in the pure gleam of triumph that lit those black eyes from within, in the immediate pliancy as the youth leaned into Lucius' embrace and shared his mirth with a rare smile. _Yes,_ he decided, _There will be no contest tonight. None at all._

 

~*~

 

"Sly of you, Lucius, very sly indeed!" Lord Voldemort scolded gently, releasing neither Severus' hand, nor his gaze.

"How so, my Lord?" Lucius asked as expected, allowing no tension to show in his voice, carriage, or expression, not believing for a moment that the Lord's attention excluded include him simply because he had Severus transfixed under those weighty green eyes.

"You never told me your young protégé was a natural Occlumens," the Lord answered, sparing a single glance in Lucius' direction, "How rare a talent that is. I cannot blame you for wanting to keep such a _valuable_ secret."

And what answer could Lucius make to that, or to the sharp, unspoken question in Severus' eyes, except sketch his concession in a bow and a knowing smile? Occlumens by nature. As though he, or anyone not trained in Legilimency would have realized that! It was some comfort to see Severus' surprise at the statement at least, proof that the boy hadn't purposefully concealed that talent from him.

Lucius let the moment slide by, choosing not to see Narcissa's smirk or Bellatrix' sneer. Instead, he focused his will and his wit on the performance at hand, and escorted his Lord and his lover on a tour of the manor's principle rooms as Lord Voldemort requested. It was a parade, more than anything, for Voldemort was as familiar with the Manor as Severus was himself, and all three knew it. But still, if it pleased the Lord to pretend otherwise, it was easy enough for Lucius to indulge him.

And so they processed from chamber to chamber. And in each one, Death Eaters circled like bored and brightly coloured sharks, drinks in hand and teeth polished as they flocked to their leader and took eager measure of the unknown quantity which walked beside him. And Severus, his shy, prickly Raven, preened and performed before them all. Towering elegantly in his sanguine velvet, Severus traded entendres with every smirking highborn courtier, fenced playfully with the aggressive and flattered the ingratiating with double-edged irony. He clasped gracious hands with all those who had ignored him in school while driving that memory home with hard, prideful eyes. He forced himself down every throat like a jagged sweet that no one dared cough up.

And at every turn the Dark Lord encouraged him. Laying test upon test before him, snagging the pride of all comers on Severus' clever tongue, then rewarding the carnage with laughter that turned yesterday's favorites into today's buffoons. The humbled would know better than to overlook or underestimate the dark youth now. Their lord made sure of it. That thought made Lucius' stomach twist in dread.

_No contest._ he reminded himself, and polished his voice as smooth as the silken glide of his peacock coloured robes, _Severus knows his worth to you._ And indeed, whenever the dark eyes turned to him, they shone with a softer gleam that whispered to Lucius' heart that the performance was as much for him as for anyone else.

_You've taught me well,_ he fancied he read in the tiny quirk of smile, in the furtive brush of fingers on his sleeve, _Be proud of me now._

And he was. By Merlin, he was, but he couldn't stop himself taking a moment when Macnair wheedled the Lord into a conversation in the billiard room, to pull Severus a few steps away and whisper a warning. "Be easy, my Raven," he murmured, "you needn't try so hard when half the room stands in awe of you already."

"I'm not-"

"You are," Lucius did not let him pull away, stroking a hand unseen over the velvet curve of his back, "and Merlin, but you're a joy to watch, only beware. You cannot afford to make enemies of them all so soon."

"Why should I care if they like me," Severus mirrored the caress, his long fingers vibrating with nerve or excitement, "when I already have all the friends I need?"

Lucius frowned. "A man can never have-"

"I say! That isn't Severus Snape, is it?" Lucius bit back a curse as Bartemius Crouch, one of Rastaban's dissolute hangers-on, slithered through the crowd, a drink in either hand. "Why it _is_!" The youth laughed, pushing himself into the sliver of space between them and shoving one of the two drinks into Severus' hand. "Rosier said you were here somewhere, and I called him a dirty liar, because everyone knows you always hated parties!"

"Chiefly because party goers are inexcusably rude," Severus agreed, hard-eyed as Lucius yielded his spot.

"Salazar, how true that is!" Crouch went on, "I hardly know how I'd stand it if they didn't serve decent alcohol at these do's. So come on now, old man," he said, taking Severus' elbow as if to lead him away, "no one's seen hide nor hair of you since we all left school last spring, and we're all simply _dying_ to know everything you've been getting up to!"

"How disappointing for you," Severus replied, shaking the other youth's arm loose, "since I was talking with our host before you interrupted and intend to continue doing the same, once you-"

"Actually, Severus," Lucius interrupted, nodding at the house elf peeking nervously around a potted tree, "I believe the servants are wanting for direction. I'll leave you to your little friend for a few moments, shall I?" Lucius quelled a temptation to pat Crouch's head condescendingly as he left. Instead, he ordered the elf to poison the wretch's next drink. Perhaps spending the rest of the evening trapped in a bathroom would teach the idiot some semblance of manners.

He was on the point of returning to prise his lover out of the boorish oaf's clutches when a timid hand fell on his elbow, and another pressed a glass into his hand from behind. Lucius set his teeth, and turned to find Regulus Black smiling up at him with eager eyes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said, smoothing his robes with one hand.

"You are," Lucius replied, seeing no reason to cosset any of the Black clan just then.

Regulus smiled then, and stepped a bit closer. "I'll be quick then; it's about that _thing_ you asked me to do. The one I said I'd think about?" Lucius raised an eyebrow, and he leaned closer yet to hiss, "Pettigrew?"

Ah. That. The first step in his plan to topple the Black heir from his moral high ground. "Well then," Lucius kept the eagerness from his voice, "what have you accomplished since we've spoken?"

"What makes you think I've decided to do anything?" he flirted, pulling a haughty face.

"The fact that you are wasting my time with it now," Lucius replied, showing teeth, "Having tasted the cruel end of my wand, young Black, you would surely know better than to interrupt my business with Our Lord if you meant to refuse. So then, out with it."  
"He comes to Hogsmeade," the boy sniffed, stung and not hiding it well, "I've made sure he sees me, and I've seen him looking."

"Mmm..." Lucius reminded himself who had put the glass in his hand, and resisted the temptation to take a drink. "And does he look because he's interested, or because he's horrified by the shameless way you parade yourself about once you get away from school grounds?"

Regulus drew himself up in affronted dignity. "I know when I am wanted, Malfoy," he sniffed. "I watched Pettigrew sniffing after my brother for long enough, I should think I'd recognise that same mooncalf expression when I see it leveled across a table at me!"

"Ah. So you've spoken to him then," Lucius nodded, "And he doesn't suspect?"

"Him?" The boy tossed back his drink with a sneer, "Nobody's ever wanted him before. He couldn't tell a courtship from a recruitment with a map and a native guide. It's rather pathetic, really."

"Well, I need hardly warn _you_ not to underestimate the vindictiveness of Gryffindors," Lucius said, pouring the scotch from his glass into the youth's empty one.

"Growing up with Sirius? No worry there," Regulus snorted into the glass, "So you want me to sleep with him, do you?"

Lucius nodded. "Unless you can think of a better insurance against his telling the rest of his friends about his conversations with you." Lucius smiled to see a breath of worry flicker through those grey eyes. He patted his young colluder's arm, "Just see that you win and keep his trust, and that you _keep it secret_! Let no rumour of it travel so far as your closest friend. Not even our own must know what you are about if we are to keep this chink in the Old Fool's armour a secret. When the time comes, Our Lord will know the value of Pettigrew's position, and he will also know just who it was that secured him. Can you do it, boy?" He curled his fingers around Regulus' elbow, halting the glass of scotch as it ascended yet again.

"'Course I can," the boy tossed his hair and winked, "He won't know what hit him, but he'll come back for more. I guarantee it!"

"Very well then," Lucius smiled, releasing him, "do enjoy the party. I fear I must return to our Lord's side-" But turning, he found Lord Voldemort no longer in the billiards room. Nor was Severus.

_It is nothing._ Lucius told the settling cold in his gut, _He is the evening's chosen entertainment, that is all, and our Lord is not through toying with him..._ but the transparent scrap of comfort offered by that idea utterly failed when Lucius strode into the hallway and noticed the door to the workroom standing just the tiniest bit open.

He set his hand to the sturdy wood, listening past the dull roar of the merrymakers, to the tune of the Manor's hidden workings. Three people in the workroom, the climbing pitch told him, and relaxing just the slightest bit, he pushed the door back...

And found his wife lurking on the stairs, her pale gown glimmering like a column of ice in the shadows as she eavesdropped on the pair below. She whirled, eyes wide, wand rising, but he caught her wrist in a furious grip and plucked the willow from her nerveless fingers. She jerked against his hold, baring her teeth as if she would spit like the cat she was but Lucius pulled her close against his breast and stilled her with a growl.

"You will behave yourself, wife," he told her, tightening his grip on her wrist until she gasped and sagged against him, "Make no unpleasant scene before our Lord, or in Salazar's name I will show you how pitiless I can be!" Then he tugged her about, tucked her wand into his breast pocket, and walked her down the stairs, hiding his grip on her wrist with the full drape of her sleeves and skirts.

Lord Voldemort looked up as they entered, nodding acceptance as the couple sketched their obeisance to him. "I will own it, Lucius," he said, the torchlight sparking out emerald glints of amusement in that fathomless gaze, "I am greatly impressed with your young protégé." He turned to regard Severus with a knowing smile. "The moreso as I come to know him better. Occlumens, philosopher, scion of both the Ninus and Snape bloodlines," he took in the workroom with a gesture, "and quite the accomplished scholar as well, to judge by this..." he lifted one of the phials of _Rhea's Draught_ to the light, then fixed Lucius with a mockingly severe frown, "You know, I believe I really _am_ becoming rather vexed with you for having kept him such a secret."

And though Lucius' heart sank to note the pleased blush suffusing Severus' cheeks, he forced himself to demur with a light laugh. "My Lord knows well that I and mine live but to serve him, whether directly or no."

"Just so," the great wizard smiled. "And what service do 'you and yours' interrupt me with now, Lucius?"

Another time, in another place, he might have taken that as a warning. "Regulus Black has brought news of Pettigrew, my Lord," Lucius said, stilling Narcissa's reaction with a clench of his hand, "The man is warming to him -- pursuing him, actually, with no idea that he is being stalked himself. Dumbledore and his allies," he flickered a glance to Severus' face, willing his clever mind to spot what passed unsaid, "are likewise unwary, both of him, and about him. We will have the man soon, my Lord, and he will be of much use against your enemies."

"Well, that is good news," the Lord replied with a disarming smile that put Lucius instantly on his guard, "Who would have thought that a low-blooded son of a merchant could present so many intriguing possibilities?" He turned back to Severus, and that smile widened. "Lady Malfoy tells me, by the way, young master Snape, that I have _you_ to thank for the idea, young Snape. I should never have thought to undermine the old fool's cadre from so close to home. Your information on the famous Gryffindor heroes has been inspirational." Narcissa made a noise; a tiny, pleased hum in the back of her throat. Lucius crushed it into a breathless gasp as Voldemort clapped Severus on the shoulder, and then slid his arm smoothly across. "You ought to join me upstairs for a quiet drink," he went on as if unaware of the couple watching, "I'm sure we can find some out of the way corner where we can talk uninterrupted."

Severus' eyes flickered to his, startled, awe-stricken, and nervously elated. Almost, they asked permission. Almost, they begged understanding. Almost they dared him to interfere or object. Lucius did none of those. He fixed in his mind the phrase he had repeated to himself like a mantra all night long; _There is no contest here. You love me. Me, and no other. And no other can love you as I._ Then he blinked once, slowly. The closest thing to a nod he dared to show.

"I... believe there is a smoking lounge upstairs, Lord Voldemort," Severus answered without breaking from Lucius' gaze, "On the third floor gallery, by the library off the stairs."

"Excellent, my young philosopher," Voldemort beamed, drawing Severus toward the stairs without a backward glance, "I should very much like to hear your thoughts on bloodlines and inheritance in the Wizarding World..."

Lucius stared at the worktop, unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing as arm in arm, the two most important wizards in his life climbed the stairs into the light. Words, faint and fading, buzzed over his skin like the brush of flies' wings. Something huge and portentous swelled beneath his skin, lodged tight in his throat and made his ribs creak with the effort of containing it.

A rustle beside him, satin on guile with a glitter of diamonds and deceit in the corner of his eye. He did not turn his head. Surely she must know that his first glance would set her aflame with agony. She took a breath. He heard it, he forbade it, but could not quite manage to make his jaw unlock to release the words.

"Lucius," she said, her voice quiet now, steady with pretense to respect. Contrition as thin as her soul. "Lucius, I'm-"

He silenced her with the back of his hand, signet bursting a scarlet bloom across her lip as she flailed backward into the worktop and fell, the phials of _Rhea's Draught_ raining about her to shatter on the stones. Eyes wide with horror, she raised her fingers to the blood, slipped her tiny cat's tongue out to taste it. Her diamonds trembled as she drew breath.

"No," he said, snatching the last dose as it rolled to the edge of the table, "do not explain yourself. Never tell me why you have done this thing!"

"Lucius, no!" she squawked as he stooped on her like a hawk, kneeling on her robe to pin her down as he seized her chin in a brutal hand. Her face was so small under his fingers, jaw like a bird's wingbone, skin so fair and smooth it almost didn't seem real, though the grey eyes welled with anger and fright. So fragile. So fine. He could simply close his fist and crush her like an egg.

"Yes," he replied, digging his thumb hard into the hinge of her jaw, "We must secure your place, mustn't we? Can't have you unsure of where you belong, can we?" She gasped in pain and he forced the phial between her teeth, pouring the lot down her throat. She gurgled, eyes wild. He clamped his hand over her mouth, thumb hooked under the hollow of her jaw, fingers over her cheekbone. Hot, furious tears streaked over his digging nails as he tossed the empty phial over his shoulder and then pinched her nose shut. "Swallow," he told her, "swallow or swoon. Don't imagine I care which you choose."

Her throat worked. Once, twice. With a shove, he sent her sprawling and knelt up to undo his trousers. He was hard, tumescent with fury and loathing, without a single trace of desire throbbing within him, but hard was hard, and it would do.

"Lucius, stop this," Narcissa whispered, squirming for traction under his weight as he brought his heated member out into the chilly air, "Think about what you're doing-" He slapped her again. This time the ring left its kiss on her porcelain cheek.

"Frankly, I would rather not," he told her, grabbing a handful of her hair and standing to haul her to her feet. Her nails scrabbled at his hand and wrist, but he barely felt it as he slung her face down across the worktop, "You've done enough scheming and thinking for the both of us, I think. And now it's time to get the unpleasant part out of the way, once and for all!"

She kicked, screamed and clawed as he pressed her skull down to the wood, but the worktop was high and her toes only just brushed the floor. One-handed, Lucius ripped through the snowy, fragile satin, then the lace and muslin beneath, his fingernails left crimson lines across her back and arse as he clawed the fabric out of his way.

Her voice was a buzz of static -- meaningless, pointless, an angry wasp without a sting. But the glitter of diamonds and steel caught his eye as he shoved himself inside her. Bloodless fingers clenched tight on an ivory handle, ivory hair tangled over a porcelain throat. He lunged, thrust in hard and crushed her flat and breathless as he caught her wrist and twisted until the bones shattered. She buzzed and squirmed. He thrust again. The knife clattered and spun on the polished wood. The worktop jostled under his punishing thrusts. The rack of knives toppled to the floor, spinning, clanging. Her ribs fluttered jerkily against his belly, blood thundering in her throat, pushing weakly against his fingerpads.

He spent himself inside her, pouring something black and poisonous into her quivering heat, eyes blurred, _with rage, not tears_ teeth clenched against Severus' name. Somehow he managed not to break her neck, he realised, looking down at the disheveled, sobbing woman beneath him. He tried to feel pleased about that, but couldn't muster much more than cold loathing as he pulled out and let her slide to the floor.

She huddled there, sniveling to herself and cradling her wrist while he assembled his robes. Glancing over the ruin of her robes, Lucius sniffed. "Get up."

Narcissa blinked at him and he felt his stomach twist with loathing. How dare _she_ look shattered? How dare _she_ look bereft and wounded? How dare she flinch and hide behind her arm when he stepped close? He caught it and hauled her to her feet. Her robes gaped obscenely from her waist at the back, stained and dingy and spotted with shame. He curled his lip at the ruined garment and lifted a shred of ribbon over one finger.

"Burn this," he told her. She blinked, gulped but said nothing, did not even pull against him as he twisted his signet to activate the Portkey. "Master suite," he gasped as the spell hooked them both and wrenched the world violently away.

The candles leapt alight as the elegant chambers took shape around them, and the fire in the grate gave a gulping roar as it attacked the chill. Lucius slung his wife toward the bed with a shove, and boneless she went, collapsing like a string-cut puppet across the counterpane. His bed. Where Severus' scent would still cling to the sheets and pillows, where threads of silken black would be lurking in linen folds. His stomach turned to see the woman's pale hair sweep across the velvet.

"Lest you imagine this to be a victory," he cracked his teeth apart to tell her, "Your petty gaming has achieved nothing save to insure that for awhile, we _both_ shall have nothing to hold. But be sure of this; I will have him back, and you had better learn your place before then."

Her grey eyes fixed on him, infuriating in their flat dullness. She stole shallow, fluttering breaths through her parted, bruised lips, but said nothing. Lucius clenched a fist and turned away, knowing he had to leave, and soon. "Keep to these rooms," he growled, finding a smile from somewhere cold inside him, "Pregnant women are terribly accident prone, I am told. I should hate to find myself a widower so early in my life."

Still she did not speak, but he felt her eyes on him as he strode to the door, felt her wand like a shaft of ice against his breast as he locked and warded her inside. He lay his hand, palm flat to the door, listening only to the hollow thud of his blood in his veins, thinking nothing, feeling nothing except... empty. Inside the room, something rustled. The furtive sound gathered him, centred Lucius' scattered will once more into a core of steel. He straightened with a glower, drew his wand and severed the floo connection with a savage slash of his wand. As an afterthought, he silenced even the mirrors. _Let her talk to herself for her pity,_ he decided.

Then he took a deep breath, turned hard on his heel, and stalked off toward Severus' rooms to await his return. To remind his Raven of the hand that had tamed him, of the voice that had named him, of the heart that held him closer than any other could do. To take his straying bird firmly in hand when he returned at last to the nest.

~*~

But Severus did not come back to his rooms. Not by three, nor five, nor seven, when the thin winter sunlight began to claw its way through the night. He did not come back to his rooms, and in a cold, bruised part of his soul, Lucius knew that he never would.

Not that his Raven would have fucked Voldemort. No, the Dark Lord, no matter his flirting, never entangled himself with his underlings -- his tools that way. And despite the show of wit and charm he'd put on for the Death Eaters, Severus could barely restrain his shy awkwardness for his own lover, let alone an awesome stranger.

His unexpected forcefulness on Christmas Eve, his passionate desperation, the way he had taken pleasure for them both without asking, without waiting for guidance or permission... that had been an act. A gift, as he'd said at the time. Something Severus, clever thing, had known would whet Lucius' palate and intrigue him with its newness. It was passion, only, Lucius told the ache as the night grew older and greyer, it meant that Severus loved him. Loved only him.

But still he did not return.

And at last Lucius could pretend no more. He knew the line between faith and pathos, and he would not cross it. He rose naked from the bed, left the surrounding scent of his lover behind and crossed to stand at the window, palms flat to the glass, steam ghosting around the splay of his fingers.

_He is flown._ Lucius thought, staring over the trees at where the silvered sky was tarnishing with dawn, _He has been touched by no hand but mine, he loves me above all living things, and still… still he has flown._ All his love, all his plans, all his devotion to the intense, passionate boy might have been for nothing, because Severus had still been seduced away from him. And nothing would bring his Raven back intact.

The thought settled a band around Lucius heart as he watched the silver yield to amber in the heavens. He was grateful for it in a way -- it was the only thing keeping the hot, sloppy grief safely locked inside.

Lucius read the future between the catspaws of cloud his breath chased across the icy glass -- a year of service, two at most and his treasure would break. Shatter on the gross stupidity of the Dark Lord's common flatterers, fly apart in the shark-riddled politics of the court, or die at the wandpoint of some wide-eyed idealist because Severus would not refuse to be what he was not. What he never had been. Lucius took another breath -- a deep one, to test the flex of the iron thing within him.

The worst though, and the most likely end; that Severus would manage to twist himself to fit. Pliant and stubborn, he could bend himself in half just for having been told he ought not to… what a thing to realize too late. Lucius huffed a laugh and closed his eyes, but once conjured, the spectre would not rest until it took full shape before him -- his Severus, his Raven dwindled into a sad caricature of his potential; his wit soured, his cleverness grown brittle with hatred, his brilliance cramped and cold. A sneer replacing the welcoming flush of desire and the trusting abandon in those black eyes smashed into a never ending glitter of scorn.

Lucius shook his head. He was no prophet, no seer. The boy would die, that was all. He would die because Voldemort would have no idea how to use him. Because Lucius hadn't had any idea how to keep him safe. He curled his hands into fists, took a deep breath. Severus would die, and Lucius would not save him.

He straightened his spine, fixed his eyes on the winter outside and whispered, "So be it."

Then setting his jaw tight, he smashed through the clouded glass and let the cold inside.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written before canon had given us any real notion of Snape's origins or parents. When I originally wrote this story, I had his mother's name as Semiramis, after the Babylonian Queen, and his father named Sabre, which is a fairly common first century Egyptian name, as was Severus.
> 
> In light of canon revelations, I have changed their names to Eileen and Tobias, but not meddled too much with the other particulars I wrote into the story.


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